


you're a cowboy like me

by alteridemlynch



Series: Pynch as taylor swift songs [5]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, M/M, and ronan walks into the bar, basically adam is looking for a sugar daddy or someone rich to take advantage of, that's it....that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:42:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28624290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteridemlynch/pseuds/alteridemlynch
Summary: He was different that Adam’s usual beneficiary. Very different. He was probably around Adam’s age, with a sharp face and broad muscles. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but a leather jacket over a dark t-shirt and ripped jeans. His head was buzzed, with his icy blue eyes clear from even across the room.He was stunning, Adam thought.But was he rich? That was the real question(based on Cowboy Like Me by Taylor Swift)
Relationships: Ronan Lynch & Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Series: Pynch as taylor swift songs [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2058669
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	you're a cowboy like me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchisms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchisms/gifts).



> Hello! @anarchisms suggested this song on my last fic and I promised I'd try. Won't lie -- it doesn't make the most sense (and it's a bit OOC) but I had fun with it!

> **_You're a cowboy like me  
>  Perched in the dark  
> Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear  
> Like it could be love  
> I could be the way forward  
> Only if they pay for it_ **

Adam scanned the hotel bar, searching for his next target.

There was a middle-aged sitting it alone on her booth, three empty martini glasses surrounding her and a look of disdain on her face. She was dressed in luxury clothing, her face caked in makeup and her hair carefully pinned up. She definitely had money—it was obvious from not only her appearance but the way she carried herself, how she casually signaled to the waiter for another drink.

And then he saw it: a wedding ring wrapped around her finger, glinting in the dim light of the bar. It’s not that he never went after married people—he did, often _—_ but he wasn’t in the mood to deal with something complicated right now. He didn’t want to hear someone whine about their unhappy marriage and their plethora of vacation home and _how ever will they decide who gets which one if thy get divorced?_

Adam had dealt with enough of those types to know she’s not worth the trouble. He’d been doing this for for years, now—seducing wealthy New Yorkers to get whatever he could out of them. Food, gifts, whatever; Adam would take it. Graduate school was expensive, even with his scholarship, and New York was even more expensive. While his younger self might have frowned at taking advantage of rich people, he didn’t care. It was a means to an end.

He searched the crowd again. There was a business man, maybe 30 or so, drinking a pint of beer at the bar. His suit was perfectly tailored, hugging his body in a way that screamed _money._

Adam started to walk towards him, rehearsing what he’d say in his head, when the man’s face lit up in a smile. Adam’s gaze followed his and found . . . a woman, crossing the bar and meeting the man in hug, kissing him on the cheek. _Damn it._

Adam leaned further into his chair, feeling exhaustion begin to creep in. He could go home, give up for the night, but he’d much rather find someone here that will take him upstairs. He practically moaned at the idea of the fresh sheets, fluffy robes, and room service. But then again, compared to the cramped studio apartment Adam lived in, anything was a step up.

He put his glass down—just seltzer, as he never let his guard down—and stood up to grab his jacket off the back of the chair. He was shrugging it on, mentally bracing himself for the cold New York air and the long subway ride home, when someone else walked into the bar.

He was different that Adam’s usual beneficiary. _Very_ different. He was probably around Adam’s age, with a sharp face and broad muscles. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but a leather jacket over a dark t-shirt and ripped jeans. His head was buzzed, with his icy blue eyes clear from even across the room.

He was _stunning,_ Adam thought.

But was he rich? That was the real question.

If he was here at this hotel, the odds were good. This is one of the most luxurious hotels in Manhattan, so if the man was here, even just to grab a drink, it said something. Adam watched as he approached the bar, grunted out something to the bartender, and took a seat.

Adam weighed his odds. The guy looked so out of place here; _maybe he’s meeting someone_? _Does he even have a room here? What if he’s in a relationship? What if he’s_ straight _?_ Questions buzzed through Adam’s head, too fast for him to process them or give them enough thought. He’d struck out before, been rejected—why did it matter if he did with this guy?

Before he had a chance to really consider it, the desire to shack up in a luxury hotel with a hot guy for a few days overruled the possible rejection. He walked over towards the man, sliding into he stool beside him wordlessly.

Adam felt the other man’s eyes on him as he ordered a drink—a Coke this time—and leaned forward the bar. Was he checking him out? Maybe. Or he’s just wondering why a stranger sat next to him when there are plenty of extra seats.

The bartender returned with his coke (and the other man’s beer) and he took a sip, casually tilting his body towards Leather Jacket. “You in the right place?” Adam asked with a sly smile on his lips.

“Huh?” the man said, slamming his glass down.

“This doesn’t seem like your scene,” Adam shrugged, gesturing to the man’s appearance. “Unless you work on Wall Street. Then I’d say: right place, wrong outfit.”

The man stared at him for a moment longer before just grunting in response.

 _Shit,_ Adam though to himself. This guy’s an asshole—an asshole who’s clearly uninterested in Adam. He should just give up now and head home.

But something makes him stay: the man’s stare seem to linger on Adam’s face a moment too long.

 _Maybe he_ is _interested._

“My brother works on Wall Street.”

“Ah, I see,” Adam said. “Meeting him here?”

Leather Jacket scoffed. “Not till tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Adam asked, curious.

The man stared at him for a moment, as if debating whether or not Adam actually cared, whether he was worthy of this man’s conversation. Apparently he was, because he shrugged before continuing. “It’s my younger brother’s graduation this weekend, so I’m in town. But he’s got shit with his college friends today and there’s no way I’m spending time with Declan alone.” Adam assumed Declan to be the Wall Street brother; with a name like _Declan_ it only made sense.

“So….you’re here, drinking alone?” Adam smirked.

The other guy let out a sliver of a smile. “Yes, I’m here. Drinking. . . But, not alone.” The man raised his glass and Adam met it with his own, clinking them together.

“You staying here?”

“Why else would I be here?” the man said, looking around. “You said itself: this isn’t my scene.”

“Okay, fair enough,” Adam nodded. “I guess I just assumed you’d be staying with one of your brothers if you’re visiting. You know, rather than pay for a New York hotel room.” It wasn’t his most subtle question, but it’d get the job done: find out if this man was worth his time or not.

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, my sanity is worth the money. Living with Declan for three days wound drive me off a fucking cliff.” Adam understood that. While he’d never had a brother, he’d had his fair share of horrible roommates.

Adam didn’t say anything, just nodded and took a long sip of his drink.

“You’re staying here?” the man asked.

Adam smiled, looking down for a moment. “I’m hoping to,” he said, raising his head to meet the other man’s eyes.

He watched as the other man swallowed hard, understanding Adam’s implication. Was he blushing? Adam couldn’t tell in the dark lighting, but it seemed as if there was a faint flush of color rising on the other man’s cheek. “I’m Ronan” he said in response.

Adam, happy that it wasn’t an outright rejection to his not-so-subtle request, smiled at Ronan. “Adam. Nice to meet you, Ronan.” He gently placed his hand on Ronan’s thigh and watched as Ronan’s eyes followed his finger as it made a soft, circular motion over his jeans.

Ronan cleared his throat, “I see what you’re trying to do”

“I’m not being very subtle about it,” Adam grinned, squeezing his thigh. He was being bolder than usual, rushing the conversation, but something about Ronan made him nervous, and those nerves threw him off his game. Usually the people he went after weren’t _actually_ attractive to Adam—they were middle aged women and old men desperate for companionship—but Ronan looked like a fucking _supermodel._ It made Adam feel like a teenager again, all warm and full of butterflies. 

“No, I mean, _that_ is clear,” Ronan laughed, taking Adam’s hand and lifting it off his thigh. “I was talking about your little con.”

Adam furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Ronan looked around the room, tilting his head at the drunken women in the booth he’d spotted earlier. “I saw you watching her earlier. Then giving up when you saw her ring. And then that guy over there—“ he gestured to the man in the tailored from earlier, who was practically groping the woman with him.

“You weren’t even in the bar yet.”

“No, but I was in the hotel lobby with a perfectly good view of the bar,” he grinned wickedly and Adam bit his lip, frustrated.

“What are you saying, then?” Adam settled on, because, frankly, he didn’t know what to say. He’d never been _caught_ like this.

“Seems you have a type.” He punctuated his sentence by taking a long sip of his beer, proud of himself. “Rich,” he added for clarity, as if Adam needed it. He rolled his eyes, frustrated that he was found out but also oddly impressed. No one’s ever called him out before, let alone someone he was trying to con.

Adam took a long sip of his soda, which was now watered down, before responding, trying to keep his cool. “Those are some bold accusations, detective.”

“Look, I’m not mad,” Ronan said, shrugging. “I’m just good at spotting that shit. Takes one to know one or whatever.”

Adam eyed him dubiously. “What do you mean?”

Ronan sighed. “I mean, I know how to play people, too.”

The gears were ticking in his mind as he tried to piece this together. Was _Ronan_ trying to con _him?_ “So you’re not actually rich?”

He laughed, a loud, untamed laugh that resonated throughout the room. “No, I’m definitely rich,” he said with a smug grin. “But I like to have fun.”

Adam wasn’t entirely sure what that meant—did Ronan seduce other rich people for _fun?_ None of was really making sense, but part of Adam didn’t care. His cards were all out on the table and Ronan hadn’t folded yet. “And your idea of fun is what exactly?”

Ronan blushed for a moment before meeting Adam’s eyes, his starry, blue ones like an ocean Adam wanted to dive into. “This,” Ronan whispered before leaning forward and pressing a soft, gentle kiss on Adam’s lips.

Adam had been kissed many times in his life: by high school flings and college girlfriends and middle-aged sleazes. But he had never been kissed like _this_ before. It felt like a brilliant thunderstorm and a quiet afternoon all at once. Intense passion and intimate peace.

“Oh,” Adam gasped involuntarily when they finally broke the kiss.

“I guess you probably need to find someone else for your, uh, _thing_ , but I wanted to do that before I le—“ Adam stopped him, pulling him back in for another kiss, this one more intense, Ronan’s hands tangling in Adam’s hair. They kissed for a long moment, mouths opening up against each other and skin growing hot, before seeming to remember they were in a public place and pulling apart.

“I don’t want anyone else,” Adam grinned. “Honestly, I’m tired of playing a part and being with all these people I despite just for . . for what? Money? A good meal? Fancy cars?” He didn’t know why he was saying all of this to Ronan (who he’d _just met)_ but it was all pouring out of him. “I want . . . I want to actually _feel_ something when I kiss someone. And, I know this sounds crazy since we just met, but I _feel_ something with you, Ronan.” Adam breathed hard, feeling the weight lift from his chest. Even if Ronan rejected him and called him insane, at least he’d be free of this whole act. He could move on with his life and leave this one behind.

But he really, _really_ wanted Ronan to feel the same one.

The other man smiled, his cheeks flushed red. “Yeah, that is a little crazy,” he said. “But I like you, Adam. I feel something with you.” Ronan pulled him into another kiss this time rising from his stool to wrap his arms around Adam’s waist, hiking up his shirt a little. “Still wanna stay at this hotel?” he whispered in his ear, making Adam shiver. He nodded against him and Ronan turned to the bar, slapping a stack of bills on the counter to cover their drinks, and then took Adam’s hand and dragged him towards the elevators.

As they kissed in the elevator (and then the hallway, and then, finally, his suite), their hands gripping at fabric and skin and hair, Adam had the strangest thought pass through his brain: _I’m never gonna love again._ He didn’t know what it really meant—he didn’t _love_ Ronan, he’d known him for all of 30 minutes—but something about it felt true. He was done faking love with other people . He was ready for something real.

Ronan was real. Adam could feel it.

_This is real._

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you all enjoyed. Let me know what songs you want me to do next :)


End file.
